Brooding Like Brick
by Cobwebbs
Summary: Butch is vocal. That's his thing. That's how he is. Unable to sit still, unable to shut up, and unable to keep thoughts to himself. But then - then he starts thinking things that he can't get out of his head. He broods over them because he can't get the words out, and it's killing him inside. Why does Brick willingly do this to himself? Brooding sucks.


**A/N) Hi PPG Fandom.**

 **Wow, I haven't been here in so long. I think I just got a wave of nostalgia and I just went on a re-reading all the awesome PPG fics I read years ago spree. It felt good and made me sappy and teary eyed.**

 **But - um, I'm guessing most of the old writers have moved on from here. I'll have to look for new ones.**

 **I published my first fic in this fandom.**

 **Please don't read them. They suck. I was like - fourteen.**

 **I look forward to reacquainting myself with this fandom, even though I have like a billion other stories to finish.**

 _ **Motivation is your Superpower.**_

 **Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING. NEVER HAVE, NEVER WILL. Except for maybe my Batman Logo Mug.**

 **Cover art isn't mine. It's awesome though.**

 **Only plot I own.**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

This wasn't his style.

This whole ' _sitting alone in the dark and staring into space deep in thought with a dramatically moody look on his face like he's in some melodrama'_ thing was more Brick's style.

Butch was a more, _punch you in the face if you piss him off or say something inappropriate if he feels any thing else besides anger_ , kind of guy.

Not - not _sitting_ here. _Alone_. In the dark, staring up at the sky like it would have the answers to every problem he could possibly think of having. But he _was_ \- that's the thing . . . he _was_ doing that. Exactly that. Literally - he's - he's _thinking_.

 _Actually thinking._

And there's nobody around.

So he's _quietly_ thinking.

Contrary to popular belief - he actually has _thoughts_. He just lets them come out in weird ways instead of just listening to them by himself. He broadcasts them in the moment he thinks them - he _always_ gets them out. No matter how weird or stupid or inappropriate they seem to everyone else.

But there's these thoughts he's been having lately. Digging thoughts. That he finds - _to his horro_ r - he can't get past his throat. They won't come _out_. It's like they freeze inside his brain and refuse to from into words for other people to hear.

They dig like claws into his brain and won't let go . . . He can't stop _thinking_ them.

He let's out an aggravated sigh and falls back into the cold ground, the grass tickling his ears and bare arms. The sky was being a jerk tonight. It was just cloudy and answerless - _how the hell did Brick get anything out of it?_

But the thoughts - they _plague_ him. So he was desperate at this point.

He doesn't know _what_ to do with them. He feels weird when he thinks them, when they flash at the most awkward and wrong moments - like when he's in the middle of a battle or whatever.

He'll see these - these _pictures_ of - of her. Of her - _everything_.

Her face and line of her body and scowl and cheeks that are smudged with anything rather than clean and her shoe when it flies into a kick, and her stomach and her roughened voice when she shrieks at him or curses, her tongue when she sticks it out at him, purposely curling it in a way she knows he can't and it _irks_ him because he can't - her flush when she's pumped up, that sparkle in her eyes when she's angry or fighting or just insulting his face and everything else.

He can't - stop - _thinking_.

It's eating his insides. Eating holes through them like a moth through a sweater. Just - and he can't get them out. He's - he's _terrified_ of them getting out. But he _wants_ them out. The longer he keeps them in the more they come. The harder they spin around in his head - and he _knows_ there's something to them, words that he needs to get out - there's a point to these thoughts, it's a mystery and it's driving him crazy, but there's something hiding under these thoughts . . . he knows there is - but he can't put his damn finger on it and -

 _Gah_!

He takes in a sharp hiss of breath and threads his fingers through his hair and tugs, hard enough to make his scalp sting from the roots he was pulling at.

J _ust. Stop. Thinking._

"Hey."

He swallows so hard his ears pop. His eyes snap open and - and she's standing there. Just _standing_ there in the dark next him - did she know or was this just some weird coincidence?

Probably coincidence.

He mutters something unintelligible. _Thinking_ \- brooding sucks. No wonder Brick's always acting like a jack ass with a stick up said ass.

"Yah - nice to see you too, _troll_." She scoffs at him and settles down in the grass next to him. Butch's eyes flicker like a magnet to a nail to the spot of bare skin on her back that appears when she leans over her curled up knees. He let's his eyes wander lower - the nice stretch of pale skin rudely cut off by dark jeans. _Damn it._

"Whatever. Whachya want?" He pushes himself up to sitting.

She shrugs. "Brick said you were actin' weird and said you were out here. Decided to come see if you were planning on doing something stupid or whatever." She deflects with a kind of snark only she can manage.

Butch feels the twitch on his lips. She can't see it in the dark - besides her eyes are staring at the sky now. He stops breathing for a minute - those _thoughts_ come up. Only this time, there unbelievably mushy and gross and make him think about how soft and almost _silky_ she looks under the dim cloudy light of the moon - _blech_ . . . he knows first hand how _not-soft_ and not-silky she is . . . _really_.

 _Get it together brain._

"So?"

He blinks. "So?"

"So, what's wrong? _Idiot_." She snaps for good measure. She actually turns her head to look at him, her pillowy bottom lip jutting out as her brows furrow in her attempt to look angry but she doesn't really feel it at the moment.

Butch has the startling thought and aches to kiss that lip - _shit_.

"Nothin'."

"Liar."

"Whatever." He lays back down.

She snorts and lays down next to him, arms folded behind her hard head. Butch refuses to let these thoughts hurt him any more. This whole, _reflecting_ , thing was a pain in the ass and he doesn't want it anymore.

"You gonna spill or do you want me to punch it outta you?" She says suddenly, the silence was only a second but it feels like she boke an eternity of it with her voice.

Butch startles. "Nothin'." He repeats. Face heating up - _what the hell_? It's not even summer.

Her hand comes down and hits him center in his chest, the sound a solid almost hollow thunk that shakes through him, it would hurt a normal person - it _should_ sting him a little . . . but his idiot mind becomes hyper focused on her palm and fingers pressed and splayed in the center of him. Her handprint is _burning_ into him like a brand, he can feel it.

"I said _spill_. This isn't like you. I don't do this crappy talkin' about stuff shit but - but you aren't acting normal - for you anyway. You're acting like . . . like _Brick_ or something." She says, voice low and gravely in that girly kind of way that it is. A girly gravely voice.

He almost snickers. "Leave it alone Buttercup." He says instead. Hoping his tone makes her mad so she'll punch him and then they can fight and she'll forget he's being - weird.

She doesn't take the bait. _Hell_ , she does the exact _opposite_. She rolls over and _literally_ straddles him. Butch's entire system shuts down. He can't compute - all - the places - she's - touching . . .

 _too much._

 _Damn brain._

This never happens to him. Why now? Why her? Why can't he just go alone and be a dimwit? That's ok and cool to chase and be chased after girls he sees or that see him - why does this - does this have to happen and ruin everything?

 _Why_?

There he goes with the thinking again.

"Talk." She plants both palms firmly on his chest now. It burns like fire. He bites his tongue to keep from hissing at her like a feral snake.

"It's nothing!" _Please - please get off ._ . . why the hell doesn't he just throw her off? Because - because this is _different_. This time - it's not just Buttercup - his enemy. His best friend. His kick-butt partner in troublemaking . . . this is - this is _Buttercup_ \- the girl he can't stop thinking about how much he wants her . . .

"Butch." Her tone is warning, her sparky green eyes narrow at him.

He swallows so hard he almost chokes on his throat closing. "I'm just - _thinking,_ ok!" He blurts.

 _Damn it._

Her face scrunches in confusion. "You're - thinking?" She looks totally confused. Like, she's not sure this is a problem and at the same time she realizes it is because it's _him_ who's doing the thinking. "'Bout what?"

"Nothin'."

She lets out an aggravated sigh and puts more weight on him. "Talk." She snaps. "Talk. Talk. Talk. Talk! The hell Butch? You _love_ talking! You never shut up! _Talk_!" Her words are punctuated with a smack against his chest for each one.

He's going crazy. "Stop." He snatches her wrists and flips her off, not daring to flip on her in retaliation. He just rolls away and stands. Shoulders curl inwards and he shoves his hands in his black jeans. "Just go BC. Just _go_." He won't look at her.

He hears her stand and scoff. She promptly smacks his shoulder blade in a _hard not meant to really cause harm_ sort of way. "You stop. I'm not going anywhere until you Spit out what it is that's eating at you. What are you thinking about that's got you all moody and broody? Huh? _What_? What is it Butch?" She needles.

He can't take it anymore.

"What is it?" She blurts over and over and over and over and - Buttercup is nothing if not persistent. "Tell me or I'll find that Halloween picture where you dressed up as Princess Peach back in eight grade because you lost that candy eating contest to me and - "

" _You_!"

She stops - words blundering and clog against her now firmly shut mouth. She blinks at his back.

Butch feels her confusion and disbelief and the realization dawn on her all at once, his shoulders hunch to his ears with each emotion he feels.

"What?"

"Damn it, Buttercup!" He lets out a harsh gasp and whirls on her, dark eyes angry and frustrated and he's just so -so - so _done_ with this mulling things over shit. "You! It's you that's been bugging me. . . I can't - I can't get you outta my _head_. Like - not in the _I wonder what you're up to_ kind of way - it's like your _everything_. I can't stop thinking and this telling you thing is _killing_ me, I feel like shit most of the time because I don't wanna think this and I do at the same time and now I'm just another freak because - because - " Are his eyes blurring _? Holy crap_ -no way in hell was he - was he _crying_? Damn it. Damn it. Damn it!

When had he turned into such a freakin' _sissy_?

He can't look at her motionless face another second. He turns away and aims to launch into the sky. A firm grip on his arm stops him, his body shuts down - and finally - blissfully - his mind does too.

"Don't you dare." She hisses behind him.

He swallows and squeezes his eyes shut. Melodrama was _so_ not for him. Brick was a sucky influence.

"Don't you _dare_ say that shit and fly off like a coward." She seethes, her grip tightens to the point he's pretty sure he would bruise if he was normal. "Look at me."

He won't.

"Damn it Butch - _look at me._ " Her voice cracks. Nobody would notice that - not really. But he does. He does because he notices everything about her now.

He looks. Slowly, like his eyes are dragging through molasses. But he looks at her.

"What's eating at you?" She says slowly. Her voice low - almost soft. She doesn't look away.

He sucks in a breath. "I - I think I - I think I . . . _shit_." He shakes and almost laughs. That's it - _that's_ the answer. His body feels like a thousand pounds and light as a feather at the same time - he knows the answer now - he looks up at the sky. He almost laughs again, breathless and tired. Is this what ? Brick feels like after he gets an answer? Butch kind of feels bad for the guy now - this feels horrible and confusing.

But the answer wasn't in the sky.

He drags his eyes back down.

The answers are on her face.

"I think I'm in love with you or something." He admits. Finally - those thoughts . . . the ones that were accumulating in his throat but always froze behind his lips - those thoughts were out and it's like a dam just broke because he _laughs_. Crazy and loud and he doesn't even care if she punches him senseless - because he feels better.

He feels like himself instead of Brick.

No need to brood anymore.

"Hey!"

His relief falls just as quickly as it had come. He looks at her again. She's flustered now - lips put out, brows furrowed in that way she does when she doesn't know if she should be pissed or what . . . she's confused and - and he's _not_.

Not anymore.

Butch knows - his next thought of action . . . was probably going to get him a one way ticket to an early grave. _Oh well - no more brooding._

He grips her face with both hands before either of them can think and kisses her. He almost moans against her mouth - the soft feeling of her lips against his was like he just drunk water after a year of thirst, it was both quenching and not enough and he - he's been waiting for this for so long now. _Damn, those thoughts._ They should have come out sooner.

Buttercup shoves his chest. He lets go willingly, her bottom lip slides out from between his and she looks petrified. Like she's just seeing him for the first time. He licks his lips. She gapes at him. He's not sure what she'll do know - but that's probably why he fell for her in the first place.

"The hell, Butch?" She finally gasps, breathless - he feels pretty tingly about that.

"What? You're the one that wanted to know what was bothering me. There we go. I been thinking about doing that - _forever_." He shrugs, weight off his shoulders now - he feels free and awesome.

Buttercup looks lost and - and - _aw shit._

She's about to cry.

Damn it.

No! No, no, no, no, no! She isn't supposed to _cry_ damn it.

"Hey - "

"Stop." She blurts and backs away. "Stop ok. Lemme just - just _think_."

 _Think? Bad idea_. "Maybe you shouldn't. It's what made me feel so crappy all this time. Let's leave the thinkin' for the Red's. 'Kay?" Best idea he's had all night.

Her eyes widen as she looks at him a bit. "You - you been thinking about me? Like _that_? Like - pervy?" Her fist curls.

"Naw." He rubs at his spiky black mane. "Naw, that was the problem. Sure you're hot - anyone can see that but . . . but I don't know when - but - I started thinking about you in a _sappy_ way . . . like a romantic and shit type of way, like taking you on nice dates and holding your hand and giving you my jacket kind of shit." He looks embarrassed for a moment. But he figures he should get this out now that he wasn't brooding anymore.

Buttercup looks like she just melted a little. It shocks him, sends sparks up his spine and makes his stomach twist like a warm gooey sack.

"Yah?" She asks, her gravely voice soft for real this time.

Butch's toes curl in his sneakers. "Yah."

She reaches out and grabs him by the front of his shirt and tugs him down hard. Her lips press and tilt to open against his this time and - _hot damn_ \- this was better than the first time. Her skillful tongue peeks out and licks his bottom lip before she sucks it into the delicious damp heat of her own mouth and Butch's knees buckle, she goes down with him and they're both suddenly really glad he stopped brooding.

Brooding was for jack ass's like Brick anyway.

Butch likes speaking his thoughts.

It feels fantastic.


End file.
